Fear
by lycanus1
Summary: After a vicious falling out with his youngest son, John leaves with a promise to return in a week's time once Sam's back at Stanford. But when John fails to meet that deadline, a frantic Dean is faced with his worst nightmare when his father finally returns ... **WARNING: rated for strong language and refers to rape and torture. Final part of the "Taboo" trilogy**


**Disclaimer: **Winchester Snr & Jnr _still_ aren't mine. Eric Kripke _still _refuses to part with them ... Sheesh ! If they were mine, my new permanent address would be: _J & D Winchester's Cloud 9, Supernatural Heaven !_

**A/N: ****i)** Set during Sam's first year in Stanford Uni. in 2001-2002. Dean's 22 y.o., John 47 y.o.  
><strong>ii)<strong> Final part of the **"Taboo"** trilogy. Not too happy with this one, but it's been lurking on my computer for ages now and after wearing my fingers to stumps typing it out, I'm damned if I'm just going to leave it there gathering dust ! Anyhoo, am leaving this open-ended so you guys can imagine what happens next …

**Warning: **_contains strong language, mild slash and references to torture and rape._

_**XXXXXXXXX**_

_**Recap from "Iracundus":**_

"I'm sorry, Dean. But I have to do this. I know seeing Sam means the world to you and that the way we always fight is slowly killing you. That's why I have to go. I don't want to, but I couldn't live with myself if I came between the two of you. I know how much you care for each other ... Let me do this. Be a father to you for once. Let me give you both some time together. This time next week, Sam will be at Stanford. It's just seven days, baby. Just one week ... I swear, I'll be back before you know it. Couldn't keep away from you now, Dean, if I tried ... Even if my life depended on it." He reached down and gave me a long, hard, lingering kiss. It was full of heat, intense passion, promise and need. "Remember what I said, Deano, it's just a week ..."

And before I could stop him, he'd grabbed both his duffle and jacket and had opened the door. He paused briefly and gave me a sad, wistful smile. Then, he was gone.

_**XXXXX**_

**Fear**

_**Dean's pov:**_

I can't help it. I keep hearing the husky timbre of his voice continuously in my head. Like a goddamn fucking mantra. And it's slowly killing me. "It's just seven days, baby. Just one week ... I swear, I'll be back before you know it. Couldn't keep away from you now, Dean, if I tried ... Even if my life depended on it." So why the hell am I'm _still_ hanging around two weeks later, waiting for him to show ?

I feel conflicted. Torn three ways. My head tells me he's gone. That he's left me. Fucked off - for good. That he doesn't love or want me anymore. My heart believes otherwise. That he's only been delayed. That he will come back to me. Like he promised. Yet my gut tells me something different ... the one thing I dread the most, which makes my blood run cold. That he's can't come back, despite promising faithfully that he would. That he's in trouble ...

And it's 'cause of my heart I've stayed here so long. It's all I've left to cling to. Just a tiny shred of hope ... 'cause if I don't have hope, I've nothing and right now, that's the only thing that's keeping me together. The only thing stopping me from falling apart.

_**XXXXX**_

_**John's pov:**_

God ! It hurts ... really fucking hurts. I swear I've never felt anything like it ... I wish I was dead. I'd be better off dead 'cause I can't take any more of this. I, uh, I want this to be over. I need it to be over ... Fuck ! I'm sorry, Dean ... Forgive me ... I want- ...

"No ! ... _No! _Please ... Oh, God ! Not again ... Plea- ... _Aaagh !"_

_**XXXXX**_

_**Dean's pov:**_

Ever since I got up this morning - alone and without him - I've been unable to shake off this feeling ... A sense that something bad's gonna happen. And as the day went by, the feeling intensified. Grew stronger. And I don't mind admitting that it's freaking me out. That it scares the fucking shit outta me. That, somehow, it's connected to the one person who means everything to me and is my world. My old man. John ...

It was late when I got back to the motel. I'd been at the local bar, hustling pool, trying to raise a couple of bucks so I could pay for my room and for food until I figured out what I was going to do next. Lost in my thoughts and desperately missing my dad, I wasn't paying attention to where I was going ... In a way, it was a good thing,'cause that's when I absently noticed it. What I'd been desperately longing to see for the past two weeks ... My dad's truck, parked crookedly next to the Impala.

I froze.

Then I blinked rapidly, believing my eyes were deceiving me, before hesitantly moving toward the truck and skimming my right hand over its rear tailgate. I dragged my fingers across the metal work until I reached the front wing. It felt solid, hard and cool beneath my exploring fingers and my heart began to pound wildly as I finally grasped what it meant.

He was back ...

The next thing I was aware of, I was at my room's door, impatiently fumbling with the keys like a teenager who knew he was onto a promise. I could tell as soon as I stepped into the unlit room that something wasn't right. The atmosphere felt hinky. Cold. Tense. And I suddenly realized what felt so wrong. There was a sense of fear hanging heavily in the air. It was oppressive. Foreboding ... And it immediately put me on my guard. My hand slid behind my back, under my green shirt to where I kept my Colt 1911 tucked safely in the waistband of my jeans. I carefully pulled it out and stalked silently into the room.

After a quick, yet thorough check of the room, I switched on one of the bedside lamps and, to my relief, saw that none of the salt lines were broken. I turned warily and quietly approached the bathroom door, which was ajar. And that's when I heard shuffling and a low, pain-filled moan followed by someone moving about slowly and lethargically. Suddenly, I heard whoever it was - and I hoped to God that it was who I longed for - stumble in the dark and the tearing sound of the shower curtain. There was a dull, heavy thud, followed by a harsh, stricken cry that made my flesh crawl. And before I could stop to think, I'd already turned on the weak bathroom light and was scanning the room.

Nothing could've prepared me for what I saw in that dimly lit, cramped bathroom. And I don't think I'll ever forget it. It's an image branded upon my mind and I will carry it for the rest of my days ...

My brave, strong, hard-as-nails, bad ass dad ... My fiery, passionate, sexy as hell lover ... My drop-dead gorgeous John, stark naked, vulnerable and broken beyond repair, sitting on the tiled shower cubicle floor directly beneath the spray of warm water, knees drawn up to his chest, arms tightly wrapped around them. His body rocked silently. He was bloody, battered and bruised and looked as if he'd been dragged to hell and back.

"D-Dad ?" I spoke softly, only too aware of his soaked, trembling, tension-filled form. "John ... ?" I reached out a hand in an attempt to reassure him. As soon as my fingers lightly grazed his skin, he froze then hastily scrambled backwards. Away from me. Until he'd backed himself into the corner of the cubicle. He was trapped. There was nowhere for him to run to.

During all this time he'd kept his head averted and refused to look at me. Cowering away from me, he exuded fear and a vulnerability I'd never seen in him before. Cautiously, I approached him as if he were a skittish animal then reached out to gently tilt up his chin so that he'd have to meet my gaze. He flinched at my touch - something he'd never done before - and pressed back against the cubicle wall. That's when I finally saw the true extent of his injuries and they broke my heart. His face was a mass of bruises and covered with dried blood. His lower lip was split, his left cheekbone severely grazed and there was a nasty wound to his right temple. But the worst thing of all ? The broken, defeated expression on his ruggedly handsome face and the look I never thought I'd see in my dad's beautiful whiskey-hued eyes. Absolute fear and loathing. And they were directed solely at me.

For some unknown, bewildering reason, my father ... my lover, was fucking terrified of me. He hated me. And I had no idea why. No fucking clue ... And it hurt deeply.

"John ... what happened ?" I asked softly, crouching in front of him, keeping my voice soft in order to soothe him. "Who did this to you ?"

He jerked abruptly away from me, striking the back of his head hard against the tiled cubicle wall. The dull thud made me wince and want to draw him into my arms. To hold and comfort him. His striking dark eyes, flecked with gold stared at me in disbelief and condemnation.

"Liar !" he rasped, his voice rough, broken and weary. "Fucking liar ! You _know_ damn well what happened ... who did this to me ... _You were there_- "

I sat back abruptly on my heels. Deeply shocked. Full of disbelief. And hurt. "How could I ? Haven't seen you for two weeks- "

He wrapped his arms tightly around his trembling form, trying to keep himself together. Not to break any further than he already had. The fear was still clear in his eyes along with the venom and disbelief directed at me. "Stay the fuck away from me ... You've done enough damage ... Quit pretending you don't know. You know_ who _did this to me ... Who broke me and made my goddamn life a living hell ... It wasyou, you fucking bastard. _You !_"

"Dad ... I swear, _it wasn't me_ ... It couldn't have been me ..." I begged, struggling to deal with his accusation. With the lie he clearly believed. "I'd never do anything to hurt you. _Ever. _I love you too much. Hurting you'd kill me. You're my life. You mean everything to me."

He averted his gaze. His broad chest rose and fell erratically as he struggled to compose himself.

"It's _me, _Dad. Dean. Your son- "

Suddenly, his head jerked up and he met my gaze head on and shook his head in vehement denial. "_You're_ not Dean," he whispered brokenly. "You're _not_ _my son ! _He's a good man. And he loves me. My son wouldn't have b- ... wouldn't have b-beaten ... t-tortured ..." He paused abruptly and took a deep breath. "And my D-Dean would _never_ have fucking r-raped me- "

Bewildered and totally stunned by his revelation, I began to protest, "Bu- "

Every single word which he believed seemed to be an accusation. A condemnation that was damning. I felt as if I'd been judged and found guilty of the most heinous crime … and in the eyes of God and outsiders I'd committed an unforgivable and probably the worst sin known to mankind. I'd fallen in love with and seduced my own flesh and blood … my father.

Yet despite being the one to blame for all of this, I wasn't the one suffering. I wasn't the one being tormented. No, the one who endured all that, who was being cruelly haunted thanks to my selfishness, my weakness, was the one person who truly didn't deserve such punishment … and it was _my_ fault that my dad, the one I loved more than life itself, was such a fucking mess. _My_ fault that he was in such agonizing pain … that he was so damn scared of his own shadow and was clearly terrified of me.

By now, tears were silently falling down his battered face and he continued to speak softly, as if I wasn't there. "And it wasn't j-just the one t-time either ... it was every fucking night. For t-two goddamn weeks ... I c-can't t-take it anymore. C-can't live like this. You sh-should've fucking k-killed me ... _Demon !_"

**FINIS**


End file.
